Tuesday, March 30, 2010

The super had an office partitioned off with chicken wire from the rest of the cellar. In it were a rolltop desk, an antique television set, and a swivel chair, in which sat the super. The smell of bad wine oozed out of the place. He looked at me with no sign of recognition or welcome.

I said, "I want to use your phone."

He said, "There's a pay phone at the drugstore across the street. I ain't running no charity here."

I said, "There's a dead person in room thirteen, and I am going to call the police and tell them. If you say anything to me but yes, sir, I will hit you at least six times in the face."

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

I'm tired. That damned time change really screwed me up this year. Maybe it wasn't totally the time change, we did have a hellaciously busy spring break week in there as well, and I did fall off the wagon (not badly, but the wagon did run over my balls as I was trying to get back on), and I found, once again, that I cannot trust thirty-somethings to not get shitfaced when I decide to leave the cafe for a few hours after working 70 hours without a break.

And...the two women I was trying to maybe have some sort of dating-type relationship with both pretty much blew me off. Ok, I wasn't trying to hook up with both of them at the same time, I had pretty much decided on one, even though she's been warm and cold for about a year now, but when it became clear that that wasn't going to happen, or maybe I just got sick of sitting on the back burner, I decided to ask out a bartender who (I thought) has been flirting with me for a while now. Apparently I am not a good judge of such things.

Oh well. The first is probably a good thing, we had a series of drunken flings a few years ago and she's back in town and sober and I thought maybe there had been something there, back then, and maybe there could be something now. I guess what was there back then was convenience and a not much more.

The second is really cool, and while I am aware that bartenders make better tips by being flirty, we have hung out outside of that environment, and we do share a love of sarcasm, Ray Harryhausen movies, and conveniently sized cheeseburgers, and she had gotten out of a relationship a while back, so I gave it a shot. I'm not a hundred percent on it being a no go yet, but I'm pretty sure.

And...my sister (younger) just became a grandmother. I am so not digging that for some reason. I mean, yeah, I'm happy for my nephew, he looks totally stoked in the pics I've seen of him with his wife and baby, but his wife, and I'm judging her based entirely on her facebook page, is a total nut. And, I don't want to be old enough to be a grandpa. Luckily, I had the sense to get my kids fixed while they were little.

And...I don't know what the hell happened last night on Southland. Oh, I watched it all right, but what happened to the bald Latino detective? They just stuck a new one in his place with nothing more than a comment at the end that it had been a hell of a first day working together...and when the hell did Cooper come out? I was pretty sure that he was in the closet, the viewers only recognizing the clues because, hey, we also saw him at the gay bar...and who the hell goes to funeral, especially a cop at another cop's funeral, even of someone they don't know, without asking how they died?

Last nights episode was weak, and there I've been talking it up like crazy. I guess I'll re-watch it in a couple of days and see if I can figure out what I missed.

Saturday, March 6, 2010

For the first four weeks I didn't have a drink of alcohol. In the four weeks since, I have only had six beers. There's a 12 pack in the cooler right now, and I don't even want one. Much.

I've fought through the phase where my body was craving sugars (strangely, I got very Southern during this phase, grabbing sweet tea and Moon Pies on the way home from work almost every night). I've replaced my usual Doritos, burrito or grilled cheese dinners with salads, nuts, and fruits, and I've been hitting the gym pretty hard the last few weeks.

But all for naught, because the freaking Girl Scouts are out in force everywhere I go, pushing their crack cookies, and they don't care about my suffering, my pain, how hard it's been or how weak I am right now, they only care about the almighty dollar...and probably a merit badge of some sort...and bunnies.